


Life is a Road

by darthjamtart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anastasia AU, M/M, Song Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Anastasia AU. Derek is Anastasia. Nobody sings.</p><p>//</p><p>
  <i>“Right,” Stiles says. “I think we should go with head injury.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Come on, it's a great idea!"

Scott eyes his best friend dubiously. Going along with things that Stiles claims are great ideas has gotten them lost, half-drowned, grounded, detention, injured, and, on one (or three) memorable occasions, nearly arrested. If the Sheriff weren't Stiles' father, Scott is pretty sure they _would_ have been arrested, like, for real.

"But Peter Hale is so... _creepy_ ," Scott protests, and Stiles waves a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, but we'll barely have to interact with him! We just shove the long-lost Hale heir into his arms, collect the reward, and go to Vegas with our new-found bankroll to collect mad honeys. Please pretend I didn't say that last part."

Scott blinks. "But we don't have the long-lost Hale heir. He's been missing for ten years. No one even knows what he looks like anymore."

Stiles slings an arm over Scott's shoulders. "And therein, my friend, lies the beauty of our plan! All we need is some age-appropriate dude who can play the part of Creeper Peter's doting nephew! Plus, I stole this photo of Dietrich and his sister from my dad's file. Borrowed. I mean borrowed. Anyway, no one will notice, it's a cold case!"

Scott sighs, but it's not like he has anything better to do this summer, not with Allison away working at an archery camp. "Fine," he says. "But we're splitting the reward evenly with the actor. It's only fair."

Stiles spreads his arms, as if to suggest he never had any intention of doing otherwise, even though Scott _knows_ Stiles would have suggested some sort of eighty-twenty split, or worse.

It's a terrible idea. They hold auditions in an abandoned barn anyway.

***

Derek is not an actor.

Derek doesn’t know what he is, really, but he’s pretty sure he’s not the kind of person who’s okay with a couple of teenagers taking over the abandoned barn he’s been sleeping in this week. That’s _his_ barn, damn it. Well, okay, not really, but it’s the barn he was planning to sleep in for at least the rest of the month, and now there appears to be some sort of amateur theatrical production taking place in it.

This is just not his week. Year. Decade, really.

Derek doesn’t actually remember anything before the first foster home, but he established pretty quickly that foster homes were not for him. They didn’t tend to react well to the way his teeth were sometimes a little too sharp and his nails a little too long.

He’s been on his own for a long time. He likes it that way. Sure, sometimes he wishes there were somewhere he belonged, a home, a family, but if wishes were horses, he still wouldn’t know what the hell to do with a horse. Are horses edible? Derek’s stomach growls, and he frowns.

The two kids running the amateur theatrical production don’t seem to notice.

“Jackson,” one of them is saying. He has floppy hair and a weirdly asymmetrical jawline. “What are you doing here? You can’t be Dietrich Hale. _Everyone in town_ knows who you are.”

The kid on the makeshift stage -- Jackson -- crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s not like your little future fraud lawsuit has so many potential candidates.”

“Hey, we’re providing a public service!” the other kid declares. This one has his hair buzzed short, and he’s wearing a red hoodie. “If we reunite Peter Hale with his long-lost nephew, maybe he’ll stop lurking around the boys’ locker room like a total pedo!”

“What do you care?” Jackson says, snorting. “We graduated, remember?”

“That is so not the point!” weird jawline kid says, looking offended.

Derek’s stomach growls again, louder this time, and this time everyone turns to look at him. He glares back, figuring that a good offense is the best defense. “You’re in my barn,” he says. Red hoodie kid looks affronted.

“We most certainly are not! I have it on good authority that this barn has been public property for years!”

Jackson tilts his head. “Squatters’ rights?”

Red hoodie kid scowls. “Shut up, Jackson.”

Weird jawline kid, meanwhile, has gone all wide-eyed, and is waving something at red hoodie kid. Red hoodie kid squints at whatever it is, then waves Derek over.

Derek’s not really into being summoned, but the kids have a pizza box. It might even still have some pizza in it. Derek goes.

“I’m Scott,” weird jawline kid introduces himself, handing over a slice of pizza. “And this is Stiles.”

Red hoodie kid -- Stiles, apparently -- makes a flailing motion with his arms that might be construed as hello.

“We’re looking for an actor,” Stiles announces. Derek raises an eyebrow and tries not to inhale the slice of pizza. Oh, god, it’s still warm. Stiles pokes him in the chest, and he snarls through a mouthful of cheese and crust.

“Can you act?” Scott asks. Jackson snorts.

“Does he need to?” Jackson gestures at Derek as though Derek isn’t sitting _right there, listening_. “Look at him.”

Scott and Stiles both tilt their heads to stare at Derek for a moment. He bares his teeth at them.

“How do you feel about identity theft?” Stiles asks. Derek shrugs.

“Does it come with more pizza?” he asks. “Or maybe a burger?”

“There’s a reward,” Scott says. “Which we will split with you. Evenly,” he adds, glaring at Stiles.

“There’s probably pizza in prison,” Jackson says. “Where you are all going, because this is illegal.”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t participate,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, right, I’m jealous about missing out on _jail time,_ ” Jackson says, but he’s clearly jealous, so Derek ignores him.

“What do I have to do?” Derek asks, and he should probably be unnerved by the manic grin that breaks out on Stiles’ face.

***

“This is you,” Stiles says, slamming down the pilfered photograph and jabbing a finger at the relevant face. “What’s your name?”

“Derek,” their new actor says, and Stiles shakes his head.

“Nope! Your name is Dietrich Hale, long-lost nephew of Peter Hale.” Stiles pokes the other face in the photograph. “This is your sister, Laura. She’s also missing, presumed dead.”

Derek peers down at the photograph. “Why are their eyes shut?”

Stiles shrugs. “Who knows?”

“Maybe they were sneezing,” Scott suggests. “My eyes close when I sneeze.”

Stiles gives this idea all the consideration it deserves, which is not very much. “Now, we’re going to need some sort of backstory to explain where you’ve been for the last ten years, and also why you didn’t come back to Beacon Hills when Peter Hale first came out of his coma a few months ago and started looking for the other survivors.”

“Survivors of what?” Derek asks.

“Jeez, you really aren’t from around here,” Stiles says. “Giant fire? House burned to a crisp?”

Derek stares at him.

“Right,” Stiles says. “I think we should go with head injury.”

“What?” Scott yelps, looking alarmed.

“Chill, dude, we’re not going to _give_ him a head injury! Well, unless you think it would help -- maybe like a cool scar or something, no, you’re right, that would be wrong, never mind.” Stiles scrubs at his face, some combination of thoughtful and itchy.

“Anyway,” Stiles continues, voice bright, “we know Dietrich Hale escaped the fire, but he disappeared from the hospital while Peter was still in a coma, so we need a plausible explanation for the intervening years. Ooh, what about smoke-inhalation-induced amnesia?”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” Scott says.

“Make a note to ask your mom,” Stiles says, then, to Derek, “She’s a nurse; she’ll know.”

“You want me to tell my mom we’re committing fraud?” Scott asks, bewildered.

“No! Jesus, no, I mean, I know we are technically too old to be grounded, but we would totally be grounded. Just, I dunno, find a subtle way to ask about possible causes of brain damage and memory loss.” Stiles eyes Scott for a moment, then shakes his head. “Never mind, I’ll do it.”

Derek sneaks another slice of pizza.

“No, the real problem,” Stiles continues, “is that Peter has some sort of screening process. There have been a bunch of Hale heir wannabes already in the two months since he announced the reward, and none of them have gotten past the front door.” He smacks his palm down on the floor, to emphasize the gravity of the situation.

Scott tilts his head. “So we need to prove that a guy who isn’t actually Dietrich Hale really is Dietrich Hale?”

“Yes!” Stiles crows, arms flailing. “Exactly!”

“Good luck with that,” Derek mumbles through a mouthful of pizza. Stiles narrows his eyes at him.

“You don’t have to sound so sarcastic,” Stiles says, affecting a miffed expression. “Trust me, there are completely legitimate times for sarcasm. This is not one of them.”

“I thought you said it was _always_ a good time for sarcasm,” Scott points out.

“Yes, but that was for me. It is always a good time for _me_ to use sarcasm.” Stiles gestures at Derek’s well-muscled torso. “This guy clearly has other defenses.”

***

Derek ends up crashing with Stiles that night, since Scott looks devastated by the idea of Derek sleeping in the barn, but is already sharing his room with Isaac, his foster brother. Stiles, who is apparently an only child, grudgingly tosses a pillow and blanket at Derek and tells him to pull up some floor and make himself comfortable.

Derek does. It’s surprisingly nice, and not just because the floor is carpeted.

When he wakes up the next morning, Stiles is feverishly leafing through a pile of journals at his desk.

“What are you looking at?” Derek asks, and Stiles yelps, spins around in his chair, presses a hand to his chest.

“Jesus fucking christ, don’t ever do that again,” Stiles says, once he catches his breath. “Hey, do you want breakfast? I can totally make breakfast. I can make...” he scrunches his face up in thought. “Cereal? Sorry, I think I need to go grocery shopping.”

“Cereal is fine,” Derek says.

Stiles disappears briefly and returns with two bowls, two spoons, a box of grape-nuts, and a container of milk that probably hasn’t finished spoiling yet. “Sorry,” Stiles says, laying everything out on his desk. “I’m just not up to explaining to my dad why I’m harboring the long-lost amnesiac nephew of Creeper Peter. Especially since my dad is the sheriff and therefore has actual professional skills to determine when I’m lying.”

Derek makes a sound that could be construed as acknowledgement and pokes at his cereal. The milk doesn’t appear to be solidifying, but it certainly isn’t helping the flavor of the grape-nuts, which need all the help they can get.

The doorbell rings shortly after the sheriff leaves for work, by which time Stiles and Derek have finished the milk, the cereal, and the remnants of a bag of potato chips that Stiles had stashed under his bed. It’s Scott, and the three of them settle down in the living room to discuss the mystery of Dietrich Hale’s survival and decade-long absence.

“Kidnapped by a human trafficking ring,” Stiles suggests. Scott makes a face.

“Working undercover for the CIA,” says Scott.

Stiles makes a scoffing noise. “Dude, he was barely out of middle school. I don’t think the CIA recruits teenagers from Beacon Hills High.”

“That’s what they _want_ you to think,” Scott mutters, and Derek snorts, because he might not remember much, but he knows better than to believe in elaborate conspiracy theories.

“What about enemies of the Hale family?” Stiles asks. “Maybe he wasn’t sure it was safe to come back.”

“Does the Hale family even have enemies?” Scott asks.

“Well, _someone_ burned their house down,” Stiles replies, and Derek shivers, even though the living room is warm.

Scott sighs. “Fine. But we still need to convince Peter Hale that this random guy we found in a barn is Dietrich.” He turns to Derek, giving him an expectant look. Derek glowers back.

“Here.” Stiles shoves a pile of papers at Derek. “I’ve put together a dossier on Dietrich’s family. Everything I could find about their lives in Beacon Hills, their jobs, Dietrich’s extracurriculars. _Your_ extracurriculars, I guess. Hey, you were on the swim team! Uh, you can swim, right?”

Derek shrugs. “Swimming’s just staying alive when you’re in the water.”

“Uh, sure,” Stiles says. “That’s one way to look at it.”

Derek skims through the papers, but it’s all superficial stuff, mostly a matter of public record and a few things Stiles clearly cribbed from his father’s files or from the hospital’s medical records.

“So where are you from, anyway?” Stiles asks, and Derek shrugs again.

“You have to be from somewhere,” Scott says.

“Yeah, we can’t have people from your past showing up to expose the whole identity theft thing,” Stiles adds. “Is anyone, you know, looking for you?”

Derek scowls, the papers crumpling in his fist. “I don’t know,” he grits out, and Scott and Stiles exchange a wide-eyed look.

“You don’t know as in you think you lost them back in Cincinnati, or you don’t know as in head trauma?” Stiles asks, then winces when Scott elbows him. “What? Like there’s a tactful way to ask that!”

“Head trauma,” Derek mutters. “Or something.”

Stiles’ eyes are gleaming speculatively in a way that Derek think should probably make him uncomfortable. “So you really _could_ be Dietrich Hale!” Stiles crows, and Scott is nodding along eagerly like he genuinely believes it.

“Right,” Derek says. “Because the foster system regularly spits out homeless orphans who just happen to be the long-lost heirs to a family worth millions.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and points an accusing finger at Derek. “Hey,” he says. “What did we say about sarcasm?”

***

Scott and Stiles quiz Derek on the contents of the dossier that afternoon. He does better than he’d expected to, having given the contents of the folder a somewhat perfunctory skim before turning his attention to the newly-arrived snacks. After he rattles off the names of his -- well, Dietrich’s -- siblings, along with some additional trivia, through a mouthful of popcorn, Stiles starts squinting at him oddly. Derek bares his teeth in a half-snarl and hunches protectively over the popcorn bowl.

“What?” Scott asks, catching the exchange.

“I don’t think that was in the dossier,” Stiles says slowly, and Scott and Derek both still. The character Scott was controlling via the Xbox dies a sudden and brutal death.

“Dude,” Scott breathes, eyes widening. “Maybe Derek’s psychic!”

“Yeah, Scott, because that’s the most likely explanation,” Stiles snaps back, but he’s still giving Derek that speculative stare, and Derek fights the urge to fidget uncomfortably. “I think maybe we should go see Peter Hale. Today. Like, right now.”

Scott looks sadly at the Xbox, but puts it aside with a sigh. Stiles grabs the bowl of popcorn from Derek, who has to choke back a growl. “Come on!” Stiles says, and tugs Derek by the wrist to the door.

They pile into Stiles’ battered jeep for the ride to Peter’s house, where Stiles leads them to the front door and then pauses with one finger hovering over the doorbell. “I’m having second thoughts,” Stiles announces.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Scott asks, and Stiles steps away from the doorbell and starts gesturing emphatically.

“Dude, _how could you ask that_?” Stiles hisses, arms flailing. “This is _Peter Hale_! He could murder us all for wasting his time! He could bury our bodies in the woods -- the woods that he _owns_ \-- and no one would ever find us! He could feed us to his pet sharks!”

“He has pet sharks?” Derek asks. He’s starting to regret agreeing to participate in this whole identity theft thing.

“Well, no,” Stiles admits. “Probably not.”

Scott rolls his eyes and rings the doorbell before Stiles can stop him.

“We’re all going to die,” Stiles intones, and the door swings open to reveal an average-looking man with a smile that would be pleasant if it didn’t show quite so many of his admittedly rather pointy teeth.

“Scott, Stiles,” the man greets them. “What a delightful surprise.” He peers around the doorframe, catching sight of Derek, and his expression turns wary. “And who is this supposed to be?”

“Well, uh,” Stiles starts, eloquently, and the man cuts him off, arm flashing out to seize Derek by the wrist and haul him inside.

“Are you coming?” the man calls over his shoulder, and Scott and Stiles exchange a wide-eyed glance before following Derek into the house.

***

They wind up sitting around a table in a cheery, well-lit kitchen. “Peter Hale is making us coffee,” Stiles mutters to Scott. “Don’t drink it.” Derek sniffs his mug suspiciously, but it doesn’t seem like anything other than coffee.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting the reward,” Peter says, once he’s joined them at the table. He smirks at the untouched mugs in front of Scott and Stiles. “How did you find him?”

“He sort of found us,” Stiles admits. “Don’t you want to ask him questions, make sure he’s really Dietrich?”

“All in good time,” Peter says. He leans forward, steepling his hands under his chin. “In any case, I assume you’ve prepped him with the answers you think I want to hear. Isn’t that why you were holding auditions?”

Scott freezes with the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. “You knew about that?” he gasps, then winces when Stiles digs an elbow into his ribs.

“Beacon Hills is a very small town,” Peter reminds them. Stiles mutters something about needing a better venue for his future forays into a life of crime, and Derek smiles into his own coffee mug.

“Besides,” Peter says, utterly serene. “I already know this is Dietrich.”

“Derek,” Derek mutters, and Peter nods.

“Derek, then. Your mother’s insistence on sticking with traditional family names was certainly harder on the boys.”

Stiles makes a sympathetic face.

“How do you know?” Derek asks. He’s staring at the table, but he knows Peter is watching him avidly. When he glances up, Peter’s eyes flash a brighter blue, just for a moment, and Derek jerks in his chair, startled by how familiar it seems.

Peter is silent for a long moment. “What do you remember?” he asks, instead of answering Derek’s question, and Derek grimaces, stalling with another swallow of rapidly-cooling coffee.

“Waking up in a hospital, alone,” Derek mutters. “Nothing before that.” He hesitates, then adds, “I don’t think it was here.”

“It wouldn’t have been,” Peter agrees. “I managed to track down the people who burned our house down, and they confessed to kidnapping you from the Beacon Hills hospital while you were still unconscious. Paid off a nurse.”

“My mom’s a nurse,” Scott says, sounding faintly horrified.

“Yes, I’m familiar with your mother,” Peter replies, with an overly-grotesque leer. Scott’s look of faint horror loses the faint. “You should be glad she wasn’t the nurse involved,” Peter adds in an ominous tone, and Stiles perks up.

“What happ--” he starts, and Scott kicks him underneath the table.

“I don’t want to know,” Scott hisses at him, in response to Stiles’ wounded glare.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Peter says, and gets up from the table to retrieve a plate of cookies from the counter. Stiles eyes them suspiciously before shrugging and jamming an entire cookie into his mouth.

“You were telling us how you knew this was Dietrich,” Stiles says, reaching for another cookie, and Peter smiles serenely.

“Ah, yes. We’re werewolves,” Peter says, and Stiles sprays cookie crumbs all over the table.

Derek stares into his empty coffee mug and thinks, _Well, that explains a lot._

***

Derek can’t say he’s really expecting to see Stiles when the doorbell rings two days later, but he’s not really surprised, either.

“So, uh,” Stiles says, and he’s scuffing his shoe nervously against the porch in a way that makes Derek want to step on his foot. “Do you want to go out with me sometime? Hey, I can afford to take you somewhere nice, now!”

“With my uncle’s reward money,” Derek says flatly.

“Well, uh, technically yes. But I only kept, like, $50. Scott thought we should donate the rest to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.”

Derek stares at him impassively. Stiles squirms.

“Okay, jeez, I kept $100! But we donated all the rest, I swear.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

“We did! Wait, uh, was that a ‘yes I will go on a date with you,’ or were you trying to be sarcastic again? Because we’ve talked about that.”

Derek offers him a shit-eating grin, and Stiles punches him gently on the arm. “You’re such an asshole,” Stiles mutters, but it’s affectionate.

It’s an excellent date. And they all live happily ever after, in spite of all of Stiles’ near-death experiences, the first of which occurs when they finally track down Derek’s long-lost sister. But that’s another story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Journey to the Past: the amnesiac werewolf edition

First, the download link for the .wav file: [Amnesiac Werewolf Song](http://www.sendspace.com/file/0uhbdu)  
(sung to the tune of "Journey to the Past" from Anastasia)

 

Why do I have fangs?  
Why do I have claws?  
Why are my eyes flashing blue?  
People always say,  
“Kid, you’re such a weirdo.”  
What am I supposed to do?  
And where am I supposed to sleep?  
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

Somewhere in these woods,  
I know I’ll find dinner  
and a cave in which to sleep.  
It’s not quite a home,  
so I’ll just keep moving,  
in a warehouse I will creep!  
Foster care was such a waste!  
Time to learn how rabbits taste!

Fangs, claws, strange eyes,  
Maybe once I had a family with them, too.  
Fangs, claws, strange eyes,  
Maybe they’d have known what I’m supposed to do.

Howling at the moon!  
Why did I just do that?  
Will this happen each full moon?  
Deep into the woods,  
far from all these people,  
it will all get better soon!

Keep the fangs away!  
Keep the claws at bay!  
Let the moonlight guide my path  
and bring me home...at last!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listened to the recording, I AM SO SORRY. Yes, that is the movie of Anastasia playing in the background. Yes, that is my cat meowing halfway through. She gets freaked out when I sing. I don't blame her.
> 
> With bonus apologies to Robert Frost.

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergences: Kate burns down the Hale house when Derek is 14ish, then kidnaps Derek, who ends up with amnesia. It is probably wolfsbane-related. Laura is still alive out there and the Alpha, which is why Peter's eyes flash blue.
> 
> Yes, Peter totally still killed that nurse. What? He would also like to feed you cookies. They are probably not poisoned.
> 
> Isaac is Scott's foster brother, because that would be nice, right? Everything else is basically the same, except that Scott is not a werewolf. Yet.


End file.
